Lost on the Path of Life – A Slice of History
by Pepper's Ghost
Summary: There was nothing left to do but enter. He grasped the handle and forced his way into the building, submerging himself in its dark abyss.


Lost on the Path of Life – A Slice of History

By Pepper's Ghost

Disclaimer – What!? Do you actually think I own this!!!? Ha! I laugh in your face!!!

Author's Note - On a more profound, inside note, its chalked full of silent odes to things I like. Then again you probably can't tell (if you can disregard the last sentence). So here's my challenge to you, the reader - can you find them all? Happy hunting! If not just enjoy my musing-in-story-form at face value and nothing more then the idle chatter of an overworked student.

As the door was pushed ajar, the bells in the upper corner tickled a ghostly rhythm. It was a nice reprieve from the obnoxious clang of the modern stores. The man stood in the doorway admiring the sound the bells brought to his ears. A musty smell wafted from deep within the shop. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was able to pick out various shapes in the shop.

For a seemingly small room, it let off a rather large appearance. This was partially due to the candles on every aisle. Although they did cast an eerie, flickering glow about the immediate fixture, everything else was plunged in darkness. A cheap trick really, it made it impossible for the eyes to completely adjust to the environment. In a way, it was a ninja's paradise, but mostly a nightmare. Plenty of shadow to hide in and just about zero visibility.

Unlike a modern store, unlike most of the houses, this building did not appear to have any electricity. A large fireplace, unused at the moment, seemed to suggest that there wasn't any central heating either. But that was ok, he supposed. This chilly atmosphere was only fitting for a shop such as this.

The narrow strip of light that had illuminated the entry way abruptly disappeared as soon as the door shut behind him. For all the years he had visited the shop, it still disturbed him. It always sounded ominously final.

At this point, any ninja worth his salt in senses would start to get jumpy. It took every ounce of will power he had to not slip into a defensive stance and pull out some kind of weapon. But he knew that if he did that, he could kiss his objective goodbye. So many before him had tried and so many had failed. Only three alive in this day and age had managed to succeeded, he was one of them. Now was not the time to blow it.

He tentatively moved forward. Inching really - experience had shown him that although the shelves were marked with candles, the chairs were not. The building, as old as it was, still had the original wooden flooring, highly uncommon for its time but nonetheless masterfully crafted. Sadly, this didn't stop the boards from creaking.

It could not be helped. Even for a ninja with a light step, it was nearly impossible to not make a huge racket. If his nerves weren't shot, he could have almost enjoyed the musicality of it all. The different sounds for different pressure had a mystic quality to it. The creaking itself reverberated off the unseen walls and ceiling, creating a subtle layering affect to make event the greatest music mixer flush with excitement. Actually, it was down right creepy.

After passing the seventh aisle, the ninja hung a left. Even with the candles on the corner it was impossible to see what was on the shelves. He didn't even bother to try; it was rude to ogle at someone else's work.

An eternity later he reached the front desk. He would have run into it if it wasn't for the pulsing lantern directly above it. All things considered, the desktop was fairly lit, even if the lantern's light was compromised by a blue orb.

No one was present. Heck, if he hadn't known better, he would have said the owner of the shop had died off or something. The only problem with that theory was the fact that the desk was immaculate. Paper neatly to one side, register carefully locked, bell in the dead center of the table.

The bell was a sight to behold - nothing like it in all of town. Although it was clearly just a service bell found at any hotel front desk, one couldn't help but fixate on it. He figured it was an optical illusion, something to do with the darkness of the store and the lighting overhead. Never the less, it was entrancing. The thing almost seemed to reach out, daring the unwary to ring it, cooing a sirens song. His body, in a shrill response told him to back away. Every ounce of ninja training he'd ever received screamed at him to back away.

Of course, that's exactly what you're not supposed to do. You're supposed to ring the bell, the man mused silently to himself. Slowly, he let the urge to ring the bell fill him up. It wasn't every day he got to do this, why not savor the moment? Why not feel like a kid again, if only for a moment? Gradually the man lifted his hand, brushing off all the internal warning signs, lost in the bells trance. His fingers hovered over the bell, causing the desk to be shrouded like everything else in the room. Then he took the plunge.

The ensuing sound was so sharp, so intense that his hand flew away from the desk as if he'd never done anything. The clarity of the tone ripped through the silence like a malevolent specter, crashing thought the shelves, hurtling itself at the walls in attempted escape.

It would not be long now.

Sure enough, within several min of the ringing, she came out from behind an obscured curtain in the corner.

She looked dead. Actually, he thought this was the healthiest he'd ever seen her. Her wispy pale blond hair was as unruly as ever, but she had found it in her to put it up, even if there were some stragglers about her ears and forehead. Her alabaster paleness was not helped by the candle she possessed. It gave the impression that you were looking at a corpse. A very cadaverous pallor indeed.

Their outfits were in exact contrast to each other. He was obscured by his dark garments, strictly practical after all. She was clad in a billowy, flowing kimono made of the purest white silk that outshone the moon. There was a ghostly quality about her. In all right, there ought to be.

"I was expecting you Hatake-san," a mere whisper escaped her lips. As soft as it was, it still sounded like the flow of honey, sweet and gentle. Her soft smile was accentuated by closed eyes.

With that she brushed passed him, Kakashi was quick to follow. Oddly enough, they weren't going anywhere quickly but the flutter of her clothing made everything seem fast paced.

As they set out through the shop, the jounin noticed how much better she seemed from years past. Truth be told Doshi Mausolus was from the oldest and wealthiest clan in all of Konoha. It's said that the Mausolus clan was here way before the establishment of the village, most all other clans have some connection to them. Sadly, not all is how it appears. They are barred from ever becoming a ninja. For one reason or another, almost every member of the Mausolus clan is in extremely fragile health. Fragile is in fact the best way to put it. However, once in a blue moon, an heir is produced that has exceptional ninja skills, only then is an exception made. That being said, it hasn't happened in millennia. Thus, the clan keeps to themselves, indoors, all the time. Very few venture out, even less are known by the villagers, ninja and civilian alike.

Shoving the history lesson aside, Kakashi and Doshi veered off down the fourth aisle. With the introduction of Doshi's flickering candle the boxes on the shelves were easily identifiable. Each was a bit different from the last, some tall, some short and squatty. Most were covered in a prolific amount of dust and cobwebs, they smelled like it too.

They walked down the row in silence, well she did. Her footsteps didn't make a sound and Kakashi, well…who knew a ninja could be so loud. It was creepy, you could always tell if someone was a Mausolus, they never made any noise.

When they reached about halfway down the aisle she stopped. Even within the small sphere of light surrounding the two, she seemed to know exactly where she needed to be, even if her eyes were shut. Slowly, Doshi turned to face the boxes on the left. Her hand skimmed along the boxes leaving little trails of cleared away dust. Kakashi watched in silence as her hand came to rest on a very familiar box.

How many times he had seen this box he couldn't count. Always the same ratty old thing, it looked like someone had sat down on it repeatedly. As a result the sides had a slightly accordion ridging to time. A long time ago someone had covered the box with a fabric. The corners of the navy fabric were all frayed revealing the cardboard innards. The lid practically covered the entire thing and had a bit darker fabric on it. It was also evident that something had been spilled on this very sad looking box, the stain marks were still there.

After the box was removed she blew off all the dust causing the candle to flame up. Kakashi, who in all honestly hadn't been paying attention, was startled back into reality. Something about this place always made him zone-out, it must have been the stagnant air.

"I believe these will do," her voice still as soft as ever.

She smiled once again at Kakashi and began to pry the lid off the top of the old box. It was a rather awkward thing to do holding a candle. Both the box and the candle were kept flat but that made the flame dance uneasily around Doshi's face. Even after refusing help when Kakashi made to grab the candle away, he found himself silently going over all the water jutsu he knew in his head. Most of the Mausolus' weren't hazard prone, it was just the one's who ran the shop. His sensei had said this was how all the previous ones acted, or at least her father and before that her grandmother.

When the lid was finally pried off, the contents were unceremoniously dumped into Kakashi's hand. Out of respect, he bowed; she had but so much effort into opening the box for him, and began to make his way to the exit.

"Maybe this is your year," she called after him. He had barely heard her over the racket the floorboards were making.

Hand on the door handle, he turned around one last time to thank her again, but she was gone. He gave an audible sigh as he was once again flooded with light from the outside. Squinting in the brightness, he stepped out of history and back into the present. He was, after all, several hours late.

Who knows, he pondered, maybe he would pass a team this year. However, his mind did not tarry long on this thought for it became all to focused on the soft ringing that came from his hand as he walked toward the training field. Only the bells could know for sure.

End


End file.
